


future rust, future dust

by nurul



Category: GOT7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 02:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2531489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nurul/pseuds/nurul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson chooses fencing over music, and wonders if he'd made the right choice when he meets Mark Tuan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	future rust, future dust

Jostling through a crowd after a long flight isn’t particularly ideal, but Jackson makes do. He winces when a girl knocks into him from the side, shaking his head when she apologises. On any other day, Jackson would probably be at least a little curious about the number of people clutching onto their cameras, but right now he doesn’t really give a damn. It could be the reincarnation of Jesus for all he cares. God save his soul, etc. All he needs is an entire damn day’s worth of sleep.

He’s waiting in line for a taxi when he overhears another girl beside him gushing, “They all looked so good.”

“Yeah, but did you see Mark?” someone else pipes in loudly. They sound so utterly in awe, Jackson almost scoffs. “How is anyone even that pretty?

Jackson doesn’t know why the swooning and sighing gets on his nervous but it does. He couldn’t get into his own taxi quickly enough. Judging by the driver’s relative silence, Jackson assumes he had somehow managed to tell him the name of his hotel. Part of him feels guilty about not even bothering to engage the guy in small talk. He’s so used to talking. But it takes every single ounce of energy left in him just to keep his eyes open.

“Long flight?” asks the driver.

He glances at the back of the driver’s head, eyes bleary. It takes nearly too long for him to nod, smiling apologetically. “Long year, really,” he says, huffing a laugh to take the edge off.

By the time Jackson arrives at the hotel and collects the keys to his room, he is this close to shoving a sabre up someone’s ass if anyone so much as speaks to him. So he’s hardly amused when he ends up squeezed into the corner of the lift.

“Mark hyung, ease up there,” says someone in Korean. He has the stupidest hairstyle Jackson has ever seen. “You’re squashing the guy behind you.”

The redhead in front of him shuffles hurriedly forward. Jackson’s ready with the most baleful look he can muster when the guy turns around with an apology on his lips, and Jackson releases the breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. He is so fucking lucky he’s fucking pretty. Jackson only realises he’d said it out loud when the boy flushes, and a few others barely manage to rein in their laughter. The one with the stupid hair doesn’t even try.

“Sorry,” Jackson offers in accented Korean as the lift beeps at his level. “My filter isn’t working right now.”

Mark looks at him in surprise. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, smiling embarrassedly as Jackson walks past him.

 

⚔

 

Youngjae still periodically yells “pretty!” into Mark’s ear gleefully by the end of the day. Jinyoung cackles so hard, he has to lean against Jaebum for support. It’s appalling. Mark is going to disown all of them. He’s considering leaving them all in the dust as soon as his contract ends. He tells them all so, which only makes Jinyoung laugh even harder. But their new manager eyes him with nervousness.

“He’s not being serious, hyung,” Jaebum assures him, patting his shoulder. “At least I think he isn’t.”

“I might be,” says Mark. He pouts when Jaebum raises an eyebrow. “Okay, I’m not. But Jr.’s being mean.”

Jinyoung starts choking on his own spit right then and Mark laughs delightedly, vindicated. But still, he doesn’t complain when they’re headed back to their room together and Jinyoung slings an arm around his shoulders companionably.

“Hyung, in all honesty, though,” says Jinyoung. “You looked way too happy about being called ‘pretty’.”

Mark shrugs, and tries to ignore his face burning. “It’s not like it’s a bad thing.”

Jinyoung taps the keycard and holds the door open for Mark. “Oh yeah, sure. The fans call you pretty all the time. But you were definitely particularly flattered by that one guy.” He winks as he lands backwards onto his bed.

Mark throws his snapback at him and misses. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he mumbles under his breath.

As soon as he’s done with the bathroom though, he finds Jinyoung completely knocked out in bed, still fully dressed, hipster hat digging into the side of his face. Mark snorts. He grabs the hotel notepad from their shared bedside table and writes ‘gone for a walk’ on it.

  
⚔

 

When Jackson realised that he had packed gym clothes out of sheer habit, he spent at least two hours at the hotel’s fitness centre for the hell of it. Running is easy on the treadmill; doing it in real life — not so much. He’d considered heading straight to the bar after the run, but he isn’t in the mood to be judged. Which is why he’d taken a cursory shower, and dressed himself in the first set of clothes he finds in his still-packed luggage. They’re all in black anyway; he didn’t have to think so hard.

He’s munching on peanuts, feeling a little bit more like himself, when the redhead from this morning settles down two seats away from him. Mark, or something. Jackson freezes, and thinks about bolting, the full force of his embarrassment finally setting in. But the guy notices him there before he makes a decision. His face is still ridiculously pretty. Fuck.

“Hello?” Jackson laughs, and switches to his stilted Korean. “Sorry about earlier? I was tired? I swear I’m not always like that. I think? Yeah. I’m Jackson. I’ll stop talking now.”

“Mark. And it’s okay, really.” His head does a weird little bop when he says his name. He’s so quiet, Jackson doesn’t quite know what to do. He probably should’ve run when he had the chance. The bartender hands Mark the same beer as Jackson’s, and leaves them shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

“So, shit beer huh?” Jackson tries. His voice gets all thin and squeaky by the end. He wants to be dead.

It gets a chuckle out of him at least. “You speak Korean. But you don’t sound Korean,” says Mark. When Jackson smiles crookedly, Mark’s eyes widen and he shakes his head, explaining, “Not that my Korean’s perfect — I’m actually American. I just… work in Korea.”

“Oh. What do you do?” asks Jackson, relieved that he can speak in English instead.

“Music?”

Jackson stops fiddling with the peanut bowl. “Really? I always wanted to be a musician.”

“Yeah? Why didn’t you?”

“Life had other plans. I fence now.” Jackson laughs self-deprecatingly. “Or I try to.”

He shakes his head at Mark’s polite show of interest, completely certain that Mark has never actually seen a single fencing tournament, or even realised there were even different weapons. But Mark’s smile is so warm that Jackson almost convinces himself he’s genuinely into the conversation.

“What if you chose music though?” asks Mark.

“I was actually talent scouted once,” says Jackson, shrugging. “One of those Korean companies? JYP?”

Mark gapes so comically at him, Jackson feels self-conscious. “What?” Jackson asks. “Don’t believe me? My face not good enough to be a k-pop star? I’ll have you know I can be sexy. I have the thighs for it. These things are star material.”

“It’s not that,” says Mark. He laughs and runs his fingers through his hair. “I’m just from JYP.”

Jackson laughs, but his jaw goes slack when Mark insists it’s true. “No way. Prove it.”

Mark fishes out his phone from his pocket, and types something before showing Jackson the screen. It’s a YouTube video with over fifty million views — true to his word, a thinner Mark is smiling brilliantly and dancing in it. Jackson even recognises a couple of faces he had seen in the lift earlier. He doesn’t utter a single word throughout the length of the video, lost in thought. Part of him can’t help but imagine himself dancing alongside Mark had he chosen an altogether different path. If things had turned out differently.

“I know this group,” Jackson finally says. “I mean. I’ve heard of you. I just never paid attention, I guess.”

“You have?” asks Mark. “Where are you from?”

Jackson returns his phone. “Hong Kong. My teammate is pretty into this whole thing. She makes us learn girl group dances. It’s fun. Plus I’m good. Well. Maybe not as good as that one tall guy in your group.”

“Jaebum or Yugyeom?” Mark grins when Jackson squints at him. “You don’t know who they are.”

“Not a clue.”

Mark apologises in Mandarin. Jackson jolts in his seat.

“You’re Chinese.” Jackson gasps, and moves forward to the empty chair next to Mark’s. “When you said you were American, I just sort of assumed you were Korean for some reason, like Korean American or something, but you’re Chinese! Either that or ‘I’m sorry’ is the only thing you know in Mandarin and I’m really jumping to conclusions —”

“Technically Taiwanese,” Mark interrupts him. “But yeah.”

Jackson does a loud whoop, and sheepishly mouths an apology when the bartender glances in his direction. “You should teach me those flips. Brother to brother, you know?”

“What, right now?”

“Hell yeah!!!” says Jackson. “There’s a gym in this hotel. I want you to teach me everything.”

Mark stares at him in disbelief. “I can’t just teach you _everything_. We just have like one night, and then we’re leaving for New York tomorrow.”

“Okay, fine.” Jackson pouts a little. “What about that one side flip thing?”

“You mean — this?” Mark throws his arms upwards, twisting his body as he jumps with his legs up in the air and lands perfectly. He doesn’t even know what possessed him to do it in the middle of a bar but Jackson’s raucous cheers make the mild humiliation worth it. “You sure you can do it?”

“I’ll have you know this body is world class fencing level. And I trained as a gymnast once. I can do it.”

 

⚔

 

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been at it. But Mark is so moved by Jackson’s dogged determination, he can’t help but root for him. Every single time Jackson doesn’t quite make the turn, he only stops to wipe the sheen of sweat off his forehead and shakes himself. Whenever Mark suggests a break, Jackson laughs and tells him he can take a break once Mark leaves for New York. It takes one successful flip from a victorious Jackson before it dawns on him that Jackson has literally been mirroring his movements.

Jackson’s running a full circle around the gym, shrieking happily, before rolling into a crumpled heap on the floor. Smiling indulgently, Mark sits down next to him, and pats him on the shoulder.

“I’m never going to do another tonight,” says Jackson. “Gonna bask in this glory for as long as I can.”

Mark lies down next to him. “Honestly, I just mastered one side for a long time. Choreography sucked because no one else could really do them.”

“Sorry I wasn’t there to be your other half then,” says Jackson, giggling as he rolls onto his side. “Man. This was actually fun. I kind of wish I’d… never mind. How is it like? Training? Idol life?”

“Honestly?” Mark brushes his damp fringe aside. “There were plenty of times when I just felt like giving up. Especially in the beginning. Practising like crazy day in, day out. Learning to put on a happy face for the camera. And I didn’t know much Korean at first… it was just BamBam and I for a really long time. It just... it got kind of lonely.”

“Is BamBam one of your group members?”

“Yeah. I think you and him would’ve really hit it off.”

“Because he’s as swaggy as I am?” asks Jackson. He’s grinning so hard, Mark has to roll his eyes. “But really though, you seem to be doing pretty okay anyway. I mean, you learnt how to rap in a language you didn’t even know. And that video has like over, what, fifty million views? You must have an unbelievable number of fans— Wait a fucking second. Were you like —? The airport today? Oh my god. It was you.”

Mark’s forehead creases in confusion, but then he puts two and two together. “Yeah. I guess that was us.”

Jackson makes a high pitched noise. “I could’ve been that famous. Mark, I fucked up.”

“But you’re a world class fencer,” Mark protests. “You said that, didn’t you?”

“I’m a world class nobody,” Jackson mumbles as he gets up on his feet, reaches for the snapback that had fallen a few feet away from them. “I lost. My dad was the one who got the gold. His son didn’t.”

All Mark says in reply is a quiet, “oh.”

“It’s stupid,” says Jackson. “I’ve won gold medals plenty of times. I’m the best in the whole of Asia, you know? Sort of. I just… really badly wanted the Olympic gold. But I didn’t. I ended up with nothing but a lousy old silver. God, I’m sorry, you didn’t sign up for this —”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

Mark pats at the space beside him, indicating for Jackson to sit down. So he does. “You just keep doing this thing where you… overthink. About everything. About the things you think I think. Ultimately… anything I say won’t matter because I’ll be gone by tomorrow. And I know next to nothing about fencing. But failing… it’s not new to me. I never even finished high school. You? You got an Olympic medal.”

“So you’re saying you’re the poster boy for bouncing from failure?” Jackson bumps his shoulder against Mark, and laughs, taking the bite off his words. “Yeah. It’s just. I couldn’t get back into the game after we returned from Brazil, so I ran here for a bit. It’s just hard not living up to so many people’s expectations. And now seeing you so successful chasing one of my own dreams — it kind of bums me out a bit. Makes me wonder if I did the right thing. Choosing this dream instead.”

“If it makes you feel better,” says Mark. “Most of us had terrible hair.”

Jackson huffs a laugh. “Totally dodged a bullet.”

“Besides, we didn’t do so well at first.” Mark’s smile is wry. “We got all those views on that video but that was our debut year. Which was two years ago. YouTube views just don't count for much compared to actual album sales and charts. We couldn’t even get as many variety shows as we'd hoped for so long. They told us we weren’t funny enough. Even Jr. didn’t make as much of a splash. For a group from a big company, that’s kind of really… embarrassing.”

“Wow, I guess I really dodged a bullet then,” says Jackson, his laughter more like a screech than anything. When Mark moves to elbow Jackson, he dodges the blow and raises his hands. “Joking! I’m joking.”

Mark’s attempt to scowl is foiled by Jackson making a face at him, pulling his neck back, and widening his eyes. He grins instead, and rubs at his face. “Anyone ever tell you you’re full of shit?”

“Everyday.”

 

⚔

 

For some reason, Mark agrees to accompany Jackson for a late night snack even though it’s close to three in the morning. He doesn’t even know Jackson. He could be a sasaeng, albeit a very handsome one, with an extremely elaborate plan to lure him into some shady den for devious purposes for all he knows. But here he is, at a 24h fast food joint, watching this Jackson character dig into a particularly large burger.

“That offer to have some of my food is still open, you know,” says Jackson, words muffled by his food. “You look like you could use some good food in you.”

Mark snorts. “I don’t think fast food counts as ‘good food’.”

“Never would’ve pegged you as a food elitist.”

“I’m not!” Mark argues. “It’s just not good.”

“Food elitist,” Jackson repeats, sticking his tongue out. He takes another bite from his burger. “Mmmm. Tastes soooooo good. I bet it would taste even better with these really good french fries.”

It’s unnecessary how exaggeratedly Jackson eats, but Mark feels it working on himself anyway. He narrows his eyes at Jackson before viciously grabbing a fry and popping it into his mouth. He shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to see Jackson’s smug face. Mark suspects Jackson secretly wields magic, or some kind of mutant superpower that enables Jackson to get people to do things. He ignores the voice of reason in his head that suggests something else entirely.

“You’re the athlete here. Shouldn’t you be following a strict diet?” Mark mutters darkly.

“I’m on a break,” says Jackson. “Athletes are people too, you know. Have some more fries, pretty boy.”

Mark flushes at the compliment. “Shut up.”

 

⚔

 

Jackson manages to convince Mark to teach him one of his songs as they slowly make their way back to the hotel, pausing to sit on random benches along the street at certain junctures. He gives it his all, just as he’d done with martial arts tricking. Mark’s beginning to think he’s like this with everything he does. He takes to rapping his and BamBam’s parts like duck to water, even though he sounds like he’s rapping in Cantonese more than Korean, and manages to sing on key more often than not.

“JYP would probably love you,” says Mark absently.

“Why? Because you do?” Jackson cackles when Mark kicks him and misses.

“You’re an alright singer.” Mark rolls his eyes, and laughs when Jackson takes a bow. “And you might just actually be good at variety. JYP takes personality into account during auditions.”

“I can’t decide if you’re praising me or yourself,” says Jackson, giggling as he pushes at Mark’s chest. He laughs so much. “Okay, humour me. What do you hate most about being an idol?”

Mark goes silent for a while, as he considers the question. “I don’t know if I hate this part of being an idol the most,” he finally says. “But I definitely could do without having to make sure I’m behaving okay in public just so I won’t be caught with some kind of ‘scandal’.”

Jackson stops. “So like, you can’t just kiss anyone in public or something?”

“The press would have a field day,” says Mark, shaking his head. “And if it’s not just the paparazzi, it’s fans. Sasaengs who follow us around everywhere. I don’t know if anyone cares when we’re not in Korea —”

“Do it then. I dare you to kiss me just this once.” Jackson smacks the side of his thigh when Mark looks at him funny. "Oh, come on, you’re not going to see me again anyway. It's dark out, and you're half the world away from Korea. What have you got to lose?”

Mark hesitates at first. But when he's recklessly leaning forward, throwing caution to the wind, he blinks, startled, as soon as Jackson bursts into laughter. Annoyed, he walks ahead of Jackson, who yells at him to slow down, but he’s _still_ laughing. He only reluctantly stops when he feels Jackson take hold of his hand, tugging at it lightly. “I swear to —”

But whatever Mark’s about to say gets cut off when Jackson kisses him once, quickly, smiling brightly as he takes a step back. He can feel his entire face redden, returning the smile and laughing in spite of himself, and tries not overreact when Jackson slings an arm around his shoulder. Except every single nerve in his body sings with every press of Jackson’s weight against his. And he kind of wants Jackson to kiss him again.

It’s nearly six in the morning when they're back at the hotel, swaying slightly as they sing bits and pieces of Beyonce. Jackson feels all kinds of happy, in a way that he hasn’t for the longest time. He even waves at the porter on duty as they walk in, and grins when Mark catches him as he misses a step. But when they reach the lift lobby, it dawns on Jackson that this is probably it.

“Which floor are you?” he asks, quiet.

“Twelve.”

Mark doesn’t let go even when the lift arrives. They’re practically strangers, but Jackson thinks they could’ve been magnificent if they weren’t. If they had more than just one night between them. But they don’t. Jackson didn’t choose JYP, and his room is on the fifth floor instead. He’d fucked up. Again. The lift pings at his level. Jackson carefully untangles himself from Mark.

“Well,” says Jackson, as he keeps his finger on the door open button. He is all bravado, not allowing the slightest tinge of regret seep into his words. “Thanks for tonight.”

“Yeah. Good —” Mark is interrupted by Jackson sealing his mouth shut with his free hand.

“It’s cliche as fuck, but don’t say it, okay?” He doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to hear it. “I’ll go now. No ‘g’ word, no ‘b’ word, no nothing.”

And he does leave. He doesn’t even turn around to see Mark one last time before the lift door shuts between them, afraid of what he would do if he does. He never realised it was possible to miss someone he’d only just met.

 

⚔

 

He hears Jaebum yell before he even sees him, but he doesn’t really register what it is he’s yelling.

Mark peers into the room, where apparently everyone, including their manager, is waiting for him. He isn’t really in much of a mood to argue, so he mumbles an apology, and heads to the bathroom to change into a new set of clothing for today’s schedule. When he’s ready, Jaebum’s expression has morphed into one of concern, gently touching Mark’s elbow in a silent question. Mark only shakes his head.

He’s so distracted during the entire length of their interview, that even Yugyeom asks if he’s feeling okay by the time they’re back at the hotel to pack their things before their flight. Mark is about to answer when he catches sight of the reception desk, and moves on impulse.

 

⚔

 

The moment Jackson opens the door, he is grabbed by the front of his shirt as Mark closes the gap between them. Jackson freezes, taken aback, but soon his brain catches up, arms coming up to hold Mark by the waist. Mark doesn’t exactly know what he’s doing, but then again, he didn’t even really know what he was doing hanging out with a perfect stranger for an entire night, or why he's with him again, holding onto him like a lifeline.

“I don’t know you, Jackson,” says Mark, breathily. “At all. And I just might be reading this all wrong, but fuck it. The hell do I have to lose. The thing is, I’m catching a plane in a few hours, but I don’t wanna say goodbye either.”

Jackson searches for the right words to say but ends up with, “Okay. Fuck. Okay.” Mark is about to let go of Jackson’s shirt when Jackson adds, “But. What if you forget me? You’ll be all busy with idol life, and I’m going to have to return to my training and competitions. It’s all going to be useless. And it’s all easy for you. You don’t have to be the one who has to see the other person in music videos and on TV if you ever break into the Hong Kong market and —”

“You’re overthinking again,” says Mark. “I told you not to do that. You don't know that.”

“ _Somebody_ has to think,” Jackson retorts mulishly.

Mark squeezes the front of Jackson’s shirt. “You have no reason to trust me but please? I have to go soon, but will you please just let me give you my Skype ID? And then it’s all entirely up to you. Please.”

 

⚔

 

He stares at the piece of paper that Mark had written his Skype ID on, biting his lips before he enters it on Skype. He doesn’t even know why he’s even waiting for an immediate response, anxiously watching the screen, certain that he has already been forgotten in the first place. It’s already been more than a month since their meeting. But as soon as he moves to shut his laptop, a message pops up: 

_M_tuan: somebody finally remembered me :)_


End file.
